


Give Me A Reason

by helloliriels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Academic Fellowship, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - A Study in Pink, Fellow of the Royal Academy of Chemistry, Gothic Romance, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, New Year's Eve, Recluse Sherlock, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28501629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloliriels/pseuds/helloliriels
Summary: Dr. Watson wanders the empty wings of St. Barts at the New Years party, and stumbles upon a recluse named Sherlock.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Give Me A Reason

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

"There really is no reason to stick around." Watson sighed audibly, glancing at his nearly empty solo cup of cheap beer. Was this his fourth? fifth? Not enough to make a dent.

Mike Stamford, standing next to him at the New Years party, was also leaning against the wall. Stamford caught his dejected expression and slapped him on the shoulder, laughing it off, "You mean this hell-hole of a party? Or life in general?"

Watson cocked an eyebrow at this, as if contemplating the options. "Both," he finally stated. And with that, chugged what remained in his cup.

Stamford chuckled. _Always in a good mood, Mike. Damn him. Why did he agree to come to this bash in the first place?_

Mike had called him up and dragged him to it last minute. Said it would be 'good for him to get out'. The hospital staff parties were usually terrible, and this here, was no exception. Poorly DJ'd music was blaring over the intercom speakers. Some pitiful confetti strewn around the room, most of it honestly, on the floor by now. A wimpy banner that read Happy New Year hung over the hall. While a ragtag group of doctors, nurses, and interns milled about in pairs and quartets. Some light snogging was going on, discreetly, in the corners of the room. The really serious ones having taken themselves off to closet or unused room down the hall.

Besides Mike, there was not a single person worth talking to. Even Mike, with his syrup sweet cheerfulness, was getting on Watson's last nerve. He was done now.

Watson crushed the red solo cup and stood up straight, smoothing down his shirt and tie. "Well, Mike - I'm off, " He took a step away from the solidity of the wall and quickly realized he was not only tipsier than he expected, but also in desperate need of the loo. "Thanks for the invite and all." Indicating the room in general, "Know where the loos are to be found? The gents?" Mike nodded in a general direction off behind his left shoulder, so Watson pointed himself in that direction and took off walking. Cane in hand. "Thanks, mate. Don't wait for me. Gonna ditch as soon as I'm done here." He waved off as he went. Stamford threw out a comment from behind him, but he couldn't here it over the babbling in the room. No doubt a 'Happy New Years' or something. If it had been important (which he doubted), it would be repeated tomorrow when get together. He had promised to come by and see some lab work Stamford was researching.

His head was buzzing. Damn these parties. Not even serving decent ale to get properly sloshed.

Watson continued down the darkening corridor, touching doors as he passed. Limping just slightly worse from the ache of cold as this corridor did not seem particularly well heated. He began peering into each room. More out of curiosity than anything. See what was down this way.

Interesting wing, he noted. Didn't seem much in use. A few labs. Rooms piled high with literature of an unknown nature. A library. What looked like an evidence room of some sort, if he was asked. And a few rooms with god-knows-what paperwork stacked in piles precariously by some idiot - not patient files, he hoped. What a mess. He shook his head. Felt sorry for whoever had to sort through that someday! Certainly wouldn't be him. He chuckled at the thought of some poor intern getting assigned the herculean task.

The corridor weaved a few times, this way, and then that - each time losing a little of the brightness and sterility of the moden updates the hospital was usually well known for. Here, it looked like he had stepped back in time. Barts being one of the oldest buildings in the area, there was bound to be some antiquated wing. But here? Watson felt sure _this_ wing had NEVER been remodeled. No sir. And he was starting to notice Posted Warnings, which gave him moment to pause. He swiveled his head around to see where he had gotten lost.

NO TRESSPASSING.

No trespassing? In a hospital?

He continued walking. Let them arrest him. Ha! Not bloody likely. Still no sign of a restroom. He was getting annoyed, despite the curiosity of this area. And his limp was decidedly worse. He rounded a corner and found the next warning sign to be straight-up ridiculous:

BEWARE OF DOG

"Pfft," now he really was laughing.

It echoed in the hall a bit.

He couldn't help himself. He let it out. _Dogs? Here? In a hospital. Yeah. That'd be somethin'._ "That would be..." he trailed off.

There was a light coming from up ahead, and some shuffling around. Someone was alive in this hellish Frankenstein wing then! He shuffled forward and stopped short just as a scowling elderly woman came out to confront him. He held up his hands to show he was no threat, and glanced behind her. An old nurses station was the source of the yellow illumination he had seen. A desk lamp. One of those old green glass Victorian oddities you see on lawyers desks in movies. She was still approaching him carefully. Was she a nurse? A seer? Should he ask to have his fortune read? "Pfft," he was laughing again. Despite the tension (or more likely, to relieve it). He couldn't help the connection with the Harry Potter character he had just conjured in his head. Not dissimilar to be honest. Besides the tidy bun of hair this woman wore, instead of a tangled mess of blonde fluff. They were alike. However... and a little more terrifying now, was the fact that she was... being surrounded by... were those dogs? Watson found himself backing up a little more, as canines of every shape and form came out of the darkness from behind her desk. Dark, brooding, furry beasts following him with their eyes - their teeth bared. A particularly aggressive looking mastiff was now at her heel, an enormous hairball or two behind her that Watson could not quite identify (a Russian Hound perhaps? and one of those prison bear dogs??!) _What was this place??_ He was calculating the risk of turning around to just run for it. But stopped himself and calmed his breathing. Closing his eyes as she now stood face to face with him.

_Oh well._ He told himself. _Play drunk. Play dumb. Just find the restroom. Get out of here._

Now that he looked again, he could tell the woman had terrible eyesight. Her glasses were enormous. She had just needed to see WHO he was.

He plastered on a huge, disarming grin, and made sure to stumble a bit. "Got lost. Looking for the loos. The uh, the gents?" He asked amicably. Whistling a cheerful tune for effect. The woman eyed him with something like exasperation, and hobbled off in another direction, he hastened to follow her, as she seemed to be showing him in the right direction. Relief washed over him. She was carrying some treats hidden in her many pockets, which she would throw out at times to the different dogs as they passed. More snarly types. Watson hoped he didn't come across them again, alone. Where was she taking him? _Dear God above_. He would never have found it. Or braved it, without her. He was going to kill Mike Stamford tomorrow.

Two more winding turns down a hall (or was it three?) and around a hidden corner was at last the loos. He nodded at the woman and she disappeared. Taking all of the beasts in her wake.

***

Watson let off a string of expletives as he washed his hands. _Who designed this f*ing stupid wing of the hospital? Had he crossed a skybridge to a different building on accident oh his way here? No hospital wing lets dogs around like that, certainly? Or fortune tellers._ He was gonna have to ask management about this. "Can't be sanitary" he decided out loud. He was still a bit buzzed, but just enough to be inconvenient.

He re-washed his hands at the offensive thought of animals _(animals!)_ in a hospital. He then splashed a little cool water on his face. Getting back was not going to be fun. Maybe he could sneak out quietly and not attract another round of Dr. Doolittle.

***

Watson peeked out into the darkened hall. Second-hand moonlight was filtering into the hall to the right, and nothing but darkness down the left - but he was fairly certain he had come in from the left-hand side. "I'm a soldier, blast it. Not afraid of a little dark." He psyched himself up. Not entirely sure if it was working. He huffed. Nothing for it, but to plow ahead.

He stepped out into the darkness. Trying to stroll casually, while keeping a wary eye out for any more hounds. His plodding footsteps echoed rather eerily off the walls.

He was alone again.

Occasionally a snarl or yip was heard down a passing hallway, but no active sightings. Left. Right. Left. Right. His footsteps were becoming monotonous, and he focused on his shoes - mostly for the sheer entertainment of something to focus on. Left. Right. Left. Stop. A paw. An enormous fuzzy paw. Black fur. Long claw nails. Watson looked up from his shoes to find himself staring (almost) face-to-face with the largest canine he ever seen in his life. It did not look particularly happy. Time slowed. He could hear the rumble from the beasts chest as a warning. Saw drool oozing from between it's barred teeth. Felt the huff of warm air from it's snout lift his hair and brush against his face. He cautiously took a step or two back for safety. Lowering his head to look submissive. Once again, finding himself _trying_ to steady his breathing. _He was having a panic attack. Great! Just great. Definitely killing Stamford, if I get out of here alive..._ The alcohol had made him more emotional, and he suddenly just wanted to cry. He just wanted to go home. _Was this so much to ask?_

"Down!" he heard a deep voice commanding, out of the shadows. The beast folded onto it's hind legs, sitting now like a carved Egyptian statue. No trace of the murderous beast of a few seconds ago. The transformation was _impressive._ Someone was moving towards them.

Watson found himself standing at attention. Feet firmly planted. Chin up. Waiting for inspection. _He felt calmer now too, he realized._ One word. One bloody word from that silken voice had conveyed so _much_ power.

Out of the darkness emerged a dark figure, tall and graceful. The stranger had a jet-black mess of curly hair, and Holy Mother of God... a beautiful ivory face. Almond-shaped eyes. Pale blue. He was ethereal. Watson gasped audibly. His mouth wide open. He made an effort to shut his now gaping mouth. _Still a bit drunk._ he thought to himself. _This. This vision,_ should have _startled him sober._ _If anything could. Holy hell._

He should probably say something.

The mysterious stranger was eyeing him cautiously, like he was something dangerous, and possibly... alien. A specimen wiggling under the scrutiny of a microscope. It was unnerving. And fascinating.

His collar was suddenly too tight. His face too warm. _Say something._ Right.

"I um... I got lost..." He managed feebly, suddenly finding himself quite embarrassed. Like being found in someone's parents' room at a frat party. _He was not supposed to be here._ "Sorry," he apologized, looked right at the handsome stranger. No response. He tried again, "W-where am I?" He gestured at _all this_ , vaguely. Smiling. He could turn on his charm like a spigot. And It usually worked.

The mysterious stranger looked around where indicated, as if bored with _life itself_ , and then brought his attention back to Watson. Circling him once, and stopping close enough to have given him an eye prescription. _An oculist. That's the word. One occultist (the creepy old lady), one oculist (this mysterious stranger). This night was certainly getting interesting..._

The stranger pulled back. His exhale of warm breath puffing against Watson's cheek as he stepped away. Just as the dogs' had a moment ago, only this one made Watson's heart still and then flutter. His irises were no doubt full blown by now... just transfixed.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

_He finally spoke_. He spoke. Wait, what? _As if this was a perfectly normal start to a conversation._

Watson was taken aback, "Sorry, um" shaking his head, slightly shocked. "H-How?" He stuttered out. "How d-did you?" He couldn't help himself. Shifting his weight and cocking his head to the side in question he tried to return this strangers steady gaze. _Right then. A battle_. The stranger stood stock-still and gave Watson his space, looking away - as if he could tell Watson was uncomfortable with being laid bare. 

_Nice bedside manners._

"Your limp," the stranger explained, "Recent."

Watson could only stand there and gape. _Like a fish. A dumb, stupid, f*ing guppy._ He was shocked, but found himself smiling. And relieved beyond measure that this strange, beautiful man was not currently looking his way. For now he was flushing from head-to-toe in the brightest crimson imaginable. _Not a fish. No. A lobster._ _I'm a f*ing lobster. Way to go Watson!_ His ears were on fire. Burning.

The stranger continued. _Continued._

"Shoulder injury though... interesting. Psychosomatic then, the limp."

All he could manage to get out was, "I'm sorry, have we met? You a medico? In the war?" He was incredulous. This man _really could_ read him like a book. Or had Mike talked to him first? That must be it. _Damn Mike._

The man was grinning, "Mmm...no. nothing like that." Steepling his hands, the stranger did turn back around now and give Watson a calmer version of _the look_. Obviously not used to doing things by halves _._ Watson was oddly charmed. A grin took over his face. It was hard to know which of his questions the stranger had just answered, or if he had just started mind-reading. And he found he didn't care.

He was fixated on the man's hands. They were huge. Long, thin fingers. Elegant, manicured nails. Posh. _Piano hands._ He could hear his mum saying. _He has the hands of a musician._ Watson suddenly found himself wondering if this man played any instruments? His thoughts were however, politely interrupted.

"You are in my personal quarters," indicating around him with a graceful wave, "to answer your earlier question."

_Oh._ Watson had already forgotten he had asked.

_Oh, shit._ It hit him.

He was definitely not in a position to ask anything right now.

He steadied his mind back to the present, and away from the mesmerizing hands. Tried to keep it light.

He was a trespasser. He should not be here. Suddenly Watson knew a punishment would be issued his way for this night's escapade. Reprimands to come his way. At the very least, a warning from a superior form of the hospital - at the very worst, who knows? A government issued restraint? It did not seem at all far-fetched. _Something_ important was going on in this wing. Or this man would not be here. These dogs would not be here. That _woman_ would not. Be. _Here._ The man in front of him exuded an ' _I am important and you will listen to me'_ vibe.

"So," the stranger continued, "I might ask you a few questions about how you came to find yourself here?" He pointed at where they now stood.

"Your?" Watson's mouth was suddenly dry, *cough* "... YOuR personal quarters...?" he found himself squeaking out. _Shit. Who was this man?_ He could not take his eyes off the strangers mouth. A cupid's bow. So f*cking perfect, it looked ridiculously kissable. He unconsciously licked his lips, smiling a half-quirked smile, more charm was called for. "This isn't Barts then?" Best to disarm, diffuse things a bit. Even as he found himself completely wound up.

"Barts yes. This section however," The stranger paused for emphasis. Watson already knew what was coming - "...is mine."

He mouthed the words silently along with the man speaking them, nodding as he said it. Adding, "And generally off limits. _Got the idea_. So sorry!" He raised his eyebrows and looked the epitome of regret. Apology. Not sure what to do now. He wasn't immediately being thrown out?

The stranger was turning circles while looking up at the ceiling with an aire of non-chalance. Bored. Akin to crowing. Something children do when they know they've won an argument.

Watson, however, was still feeling the full effects of a nice warm stomach full of beer. _Stop. Stop. Stop the bloody turning around like a super-model, business. I've already had an eye full._ He did not want this strange man deducing more than was already out. He found himself grabbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to shut out the vision in front of him.

The stranger was continuing, however. "Most of the staff _are_ aware." Looking down the length of his elegantly stretched (and well tailored) arm to the large Great Dane still perched at his feet, the man walked around it. Like a ringmaster. "Mrs. Turner has clearly been hitting the bottle again, to have let anyone past and into this area."

Watson was quick to interject, "N-no!" His hands waved, crossing out the idea, not sure why he was defending the woman (she had been a terror, but she had helped him after all), "that was me, I'm afraid." He did not want to get the poor woman in trouble for his terrible choices.

"Hitting the bottle?" The man looked confused.

"Well, yes - I mean, no. That is, I have had a bit to drink. But no, I insisted on finding a..." More blushing. _I'm a schoolboy. I've been reduced to a school boy in this man's presence._

"Why are you embarrassed?"

_One more deduction. Fantastic._ He could have crawled into a hole and died. Does anything pass this man's notice? "I.. was.."

"Ah, the gents." The stranger deduced, waving it off. "Many people have trouble finding it on this floor. _Not_ that they should be here, _to find it_." He added with a pop on the "t". Public school manners.

Watson nodded numbly, "Must've got pointed in the wrong direction by Stamford. Apologies. The lady was just helping in order to get rid of me, no doubt."

"Well," the stranger said, seeming to find that a sufficient explanation. _God knows why. It was not even close._ _Be livid if I was him._ "Interesting."

Seemed to be a favorite word of his.

"Guess I should, be off then." Watson managed. More of a statement, than a question.

"Please," the man indicated the direction one should apparently head to get OUT of his personal space.

_Going!_ Watson charged ahead, still trying to master his embarrassment. This had been a night.

"Come again sometime." The man spoke almost in his ear, as Watson passed. He found himself stopped, with the mans hand arresting his sleeve. He mastered one last glance up at the man's face. _Was that an invitation?_ He inclined his head and cocked his eyebrow upward in surprise at the expression. Curious to see that the man was... fighting with two emotions, and looking... ? Open. He looked open. Like he had overcome another master. Or won a battle within himself. _This changeling. This beautiful, f*ing, ethereal selkie of a man._ Watson felt like If he been asked, he could have done anything for the man in that moment. _Anything._ It made him giddy. And he needed to leave. _Now._

"The name is Sherlock," the man let go of his arm, "Sherlock Holmes. This is wing B. 2nd floor. Should you need me." Watson had continued walking, but he stopped again when it struck him - _hold up. A second invitation?_

He turned around and was rewarded with an endearing half-grin on the man's, no, on _Sherlock_ 's face. For now he knew his host's name. _Cheeky bastard._ It turned something in Watson and he found himself grinning too. He retaliated with a, nonchalant "Why would I need you?" Anxious to show he could hold his own. _Be an equal._

"Don't know. But you will," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. Patting the Great Dane on the head and breaking the spell on the creature - who now stood up all legs and muscle, graceful beyond reason for it's gangly form, not unlike it's owner.

"Lovely." he found himself replying, all awe. "Yes. Good." he coughed into his hand, "Well, I'll umm... I'll be sure to do that. Then." Shaking his head to clear it, and angling his body back towards the hall again as he once more prepared to leave. He shyly began to walk away, tossing a "Thank you, Sherlock." As an afterthought behind him. And throwing in, "Night." as he waved goodbye. He felt like he had just left a girl on a doorstep after snogging the daylights out of her. They _(they)_ had only made eye contact. _Who was this Sherlock Holmes?_

"Best head that way, Doctor John Watson."

Sherlock gestured with his hand. Indicating further turns in the journey up ahead for Watson. So it was a Right to escape this labyrinth after all, and not the Left he had been heading towards. "Ta," Watson shouted back at him in gratitude, adjusting his course of action. Then stopped. Realization dawning on him. "Oh."

_Oh._

He turned around again to look at Sherlock. Something akin to amazement on his face _. He knew my name?_

His face fell just as suddenly. _Another apology was owed. He hadn't, had he? He hadn't even given his name to this Sherlock - who's home he had invaded, who's manners had forced him to play the benevolent host, and who had invited him, not once_ but twice _to be_ welcome back anytime. _Was there any depth to his own rudeness tonight??!_ At least Sherlock had already _known_ who he was, but still. _Maybe Mike told him._ It didn't matter. "You know my name?" He shouted the inquiry back into the dark. Sherlock and his Great Dane were nowhere to be seen in the darkness enveloping them, but he heard the reply just the same.

"Elementary."

He sighed. Must have been Stamford. Relief flooded him. _He was going to KISS Stamford after this. Thank the bloody buffoon for inviting him along to this stupid party after all, and for telling_ this _glorious bastard all about him. Sherlock bloody Holmes. Sherlock gorgeous Holmes._

Watson was again arrested mid-step. He had a sudden urge to KNOW he would see Sherlock again. He shouted back, "....and How will I know where to find you?... it's a... big wing."

His hand slightly reached out towards Sherlock. Or at least the darkness where Sherlock had been a moment before. Sherlock stepped out into the dim light of an exit sign. Eyeing him with something like... surprise? relief?

"it should be fairly obvious to a thinking man like yourself." He stated, once again in command of his features. A careful slate. A deep rumble, "Just look for something out of place..." then under his breath... "Not unlike myself." He turned and disappeared again. Watson didn't catch that last bit. "What was that?"

"Good night, Dr. Watson. " clearly a dismissal. _All done with the niceties then._

Watson hurried out. No dogs hindered his departure.

***

In truth Sherlock was exhausted. There hadn't been this much human interaction in the combined years of his occupancy thus far. Most people knew better. With a small smile for the memory of what he has just endured, and WHO has just stumbled into his life... he walked away into the darkness. Pleased. Several dogs in tow. Fading just as he had appeared. Into the night.

***

Doctor John Watson found a new bounce in his step, as he went happily on his way out the front door of the hospital and onto the street to hail himself a taxi cab. _God bless Stamford!_ It was a Happy New Year indeed.

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

COMING SOON!

**Author's Note:**

> WIP just started after waking up from a dream, nonsense of course, where I had stumbled upon professor Trelawney in a hospital (surrounded by dogs) at night, and she led me to Mr. Rochester (who was really Lord Craven, from Secret Garden). And my mind immediately wondered, what that would be like for Watson and Holmes? Will try to continue this, If I can imagine to figure out where it goes from here. Open to suggestions. 
> 
> ***  
> Taking advice from fellow bloggers to just get it out there.


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